A Tropical Rendezvous: A BWWM Interracial Bad Boy Billionaire Multicultural Romance (African American Romance) (37 page)

“Emily, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” the woman said as she began to fuss over Stacey’s hair.

“How can you be okay with this? I’m a stranger, marrying your son. You’re okay with all of this?”

Emily sighed. “Well, I probably wouldn’t have been if I didn’t get such a good feeling from you that first day you arrived. That and,” Emily sighed as she glanced at Stacey in the mirror, her face serious. “Nathan has been lonely. Honestly, he’s hardly ever dated because of being a shifter. Normally, he’d marry another of our kind, but we seem to be a dying breed these days. I think you’ll treat him well.”

Stacey nodded. It was nice to know that Emily wasn’t just an empty smile. She really did like Stacey and the idea of the marriage. The woman was a lot more calculated than she’d expected.

Glancing into the mirror, Stacey’s eyes took in her reflection. Her hair was pinned up, gentle and soft. The makeup on her face added a beautiful glow to her features. Her dress had been purchased through Emily. It was sleek, simple. A white gown with straight lines, lace and a veil had been her choice. Knowing that the wedding was inevitable, it had been the one thing that Stacey had been sure to meet her standards.

“My mom’s going to kill me,” she mumbled to herself.

“Nonsense,” Emily said. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Stacey chuckled. “You’ve never met my mom.”

“True,” Emily said with a laugh, “I think it’s time for us to get going now.”

Stacy's belly flip flopped. “Now?”

“Yes,” Emily said softly. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

Stacey swallowed thickly. Emily led her downstairs. Everyone was outside, the music playing softly as Stacey peeked outside. It wasn’t as small a crowd as she had been expecting. It seemed as though every shifter in the state was there. Stacey had met a few of them, but most were fresh faces. Emily touched her arm gently before she walked out to take her seat.

When the music started for her to walk, Stacey moved forward as if on instinct. Everyone’s eyes fell on her as she walked out of the house. Stacey held her head a little higher. Then her eyes fell on Nathan. He was in a black suit, his big, brown eyes gazing at her.

Stacey felt something that she hadn’t in a long time. Her stomach flip flopped the closer she got to him. It may not have been conventional, but Stacey realized that she was happy. Nathan took her hands as she stood across from him.

“Still want to run away?” He asked quietly.

Stacey laughed before shaking her head. “I really don’t think I do.”

~

The first few weeks of married life weren’t that bad for Stacey. Mostly, things didn’t change between them, except it felt as though they’d started dating. Nathan would pull her close at night, wrap an arm around her body. He’d kiss her forehead when she was feeling down or hold her hand when they started going for walks. Nathan didn’t push her to sleep with him right away, for that she was grateful. She wasn’t ready yet. Everything felt as though it was going great, until Kristy broke into their breakfast one morning.

“You know you two have to produce a baby and soon right? I mean, it’s part of this,” she motioned to the two of them, “whole thing.”

Stacey glanced at Emily. “Is that true?”

Emily nodded. “It is. A maternal bond means you’re more likely to stay here, protect our secret.”

Stacey nodded, but she couldn’t keep the frown off of her face. She didn’t like the idea of having to sleep with Nathan before she was ready. Part of it was the fact that she was still self-conscious about her body, he’d never even seen her naked yet.

“Is the thought of sleeping with me really that awful?” Nathan asked, trying to mask the hurt tone of his voice.

Stacey shook her head. They were alone in his bedroom, his mom and sister had already left for the day. Both of them sat on the bed, Nathan’s eyes examining her face.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Stacey said quickly. “I just...I’m not ready.”

“What’s the matter?”

Stacey shrugged. Nathan reached a hand over, ran it through her hair. He cupped her face before lifting her chin up, making her look at him.

“I don’t know what’s going on unless you tell me. I will tell you that I don’t care what anyone says. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

Stacey could feel herself blushing. She didn’t want him to think that she didn’t want to sleep with him. It had been a long time since she’d been with anyone. She was almost afraid that she’d screw it up somehow, but she wanted him too.

“Let’s go take a walk.”

Stacey nodded. She slipped into her boots before she followed him out of the door. The sun was bright, the rays warm on her skin as they walked into the woods. Usually, they stuck to the outer edge of the house, but today Nathan was leading her further and further away. He was walking quickly, determined.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re just taking a walk,” Nathan said.

“I don’t believe you for a minute,” Stacey said as she shook her head.

Nathan grinned. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Just as Stacey was out of breath and ready to collapse, they came onto a house. It resembled the cabin that she’d stayed in when she first arrived, only it was bigger. A pale, blue pickup truck sat beside the house, a shed behind it. Stacey glanced around.

“Where are we?”

“This is my home,” Nathan said as she pushed open the front door.

Stacey hesitated. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to come here yet.”

Nathan held out a hand. “You’re my wife. You’re allowed to do whatever you want to do.”

Stacey took his hand with a grin. He pulled her over the threshold. The inside of the house seemed to be mimicking the estate with its earthy colors and muted tones. Stacey ran her fingers over the furniture softly.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

“I built it five years ago,” Nathan said as he headed up the stairs with Stacey behind him. “It took a lot of work, but I loved it.”

“You did this all by yourself?”

“Most of it,” Nathan said, “I’m not any good at electric work, though. Check this out,” he said as he opened a door.

A large bedroom opened up before her. It was beautiful, the bed ornately decorated. As Stacey glanced closer, she could see there were little bears carved into the wood of the bed. She smiled. The sound of running water made her follow the sound into the attached bathroom. It was the one modern aspect of the house that she’d seen so far. A big, deep tub was quickly filling with water as Nathan waved her over.

“Sit here,” he patted the edge of the tub. When she did, he helped her slip out of her boots before he sat them against the wall.

“Go ahead, get in. I’ll bring you a glass of champagne and something to eat. How does that sound?”

“I think you’re amazing,” she said, her eyes still wide.

Nathan chuckled. “Get in the tub,” he mumbled against her forehead before he kissed it.

Stacey grabbed his arm. “Screw that.”

Her hands travelled up to his face as she pulled his lips to hers. Nathan hesitated for a moment before his tongue slipped into her mouth. Stacey moaned. She began to pull her clothes off but hesitated.  Nathan was right behind her, slipping out of his clothes before he reached over to turn off the water.

“Are you sure?” He mumbled against her mouth.

Stacey nodded. “Wait, look away for a sec.”

“Why?”

“I’m just not the most comfortable with my weight right now.”

Nathan pulled back. “I think you’re beautiful. Besides,” he said as he ran a hand over her thighs. “I love your curves.”

The anxiety that Stacey had been feeling for weeks melted away with those words. Nathan led her back into the bedroom before he pulled off her panties and bra. Lifting her up effortlessly, he laid her on the bed before he was on top of her. His mouth found her neck, her mouth, her belly, her thighs. Stacey shivered.

Nathan slipped between her thighs, his hands clutching her legs tightly. Stacey’s toes curled as his tongue ran over her wetness. Her hands tangled into Nathan’s hair, her back arching off of the blanket as he continued to work on her. Stacey realized that she was panting, moaning as she was reaching her peak.

Stacey couldn’t take the teasing anymore. She pulled Nathan up, kissing him deeply before he slipped out of his boxers. Stacey bit her lip as she took every inch of his body in. Nathan did the same, his eyes roaming over her, making her body feel hot. She tried to hide her body, but he pushed her hands away.

Slipping between her thighs, he slipped every inch of his length inside of her. Stacey moaned, her arms wrapping around his back as he began to speed up. She could feel the pleasure building with every stroke until her toes curled. She cried out as wave after wave crashed over her. Nathan was nowhere near done.

By the time he was, Stacey was exhausted. Still full of energy, Nathan pulled her up before leading her to the tub. He ran the water for her again before she sunk into it. Nathan disappeared for a while before he returned with a bottle and two glasses. He poured her a glass of champagne.

“How are you still so...energetic?” Stacey questioned as she sipped her drink.

“Shifter energy,” he said with a laugh. “We’re all like this.”

Nathan slipped into the tub with her. There was plenty of room for both of them. Stacey shook her head as he leaned over and began to leave a trail of kisses on the tops of her breasts.

“What did I get myself into?” She mumbled, but there was a smile on her lips.

Nathan grinned. “Let’s go again.”

“Absolutely not!” Stacey squealed as he began to kiss her neck.

“Just a quick one,” he mumbled against her skin, his laughter filling up the bathroom. When he’d caught his breath, he kissed her lips softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said quickly. If she wasn’t sure of anything else, she was sure of that.

The End

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The heat was unbearable. Sand rushed into Ryan's eyes as he moved through the storm. He had to be careful, take it slow. After all, the ground was littered with mines. His job was simple; locate the mines, disable them, collect them. It had become routine over the last two years, but it still made his heart pound within his chest when it had to be done. Explosives had always interested Ryan. He'd been told more than once that it was because they resembled his personality. Mild, dormant, then all at once a loud bang with curling smoke and destructive results.

Ryan tried to keep anything on his mind, but what he was doing. They hadn't expected a dust storm. There had been no talk of one, no reports. They were deep into the field of mines when the wind picked up throwing choking dust into their lungs, blotting out their vision. Ryan should have listened to Desmond, he realized. The man had told him they should turn back, but Ryan was stubborn. He wanted to get the job done.

“Desmond?”

Ryan squinted his eyes, but he couldn't see. He stood still, knowing he was reaching the border of how far they'd gone the day before. Ahead of him, there would be countless mines just waiting for him to step foot on them. He turned in circles, his eyes seeking out some flicker of small movement, his ears trying to pick up some sound over the howl of the wind that rushed against his body.

Standing there, Ryan thought, as he often did, if he'd ever see Stacey again. Her plump, pink smile flashed in his mind. The thought of her round, hazel brown eyes & bronzed skin made him calm down. If he got through this for no one but her, that would be enough. Ryan stood still as the storm raged around him. He wasn't sure how close he was to death. As the time ticked by, his thoughts were savaged with concern for her, for Desmond, for himself. He knew the horror stories, sand storms lasting for days with no reprieve. Panic rose up in his throat, but he made himself stay calm.

As quickly as the storm had come up, it was dying away. The howling dissipated to a whisper. Ryan wiped his goggles, a thin film of sand still on them as he looked around. Shock ran through him as he saw the man a few feet ahead of him, standing in place. Ryan moved to him quickly, but Desmond held out a hand towards him.

“Move back!” Desmond yelled. Ryan could hear the trembling in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as if he didn’t already know.

“I’m standin’ on one of the sons of bitches,” the man said with a laugh. “If I move this foot,
boom!
We both go up, buddy.”

Ryan was shaking his head furiously, sweat pouring down his face as he edged closer. “I can disable it.”

“Now, we both know that’s a damn lie,” the man said as he held out a hand. “Gimme a smoke.”

Ryan reached into his pocket, pulled out a hand rolled cigarette. He barely smoked, usually just after a successful mission, but he always kept one on hand. He stuck the tube between his teeth, struck a match and watched the smoke curl into the air. Taking a deep drag, he passed it over to Desmond with a trembling hand.

“Our last smoke together,” Desmond mused as he took in a thick breath, “I always said we’d quit together.”

Ryan nodded. He knew that it was his last smoke, no matter what happened. They smoked in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth until it was nothing. Ryan snubbed it out beneath the toe of his boot.

“Maybe I can go back, get help,” Ryan said slowly.

Desmond laughed. “Ain’t no hope for me and you know it. Do me a favor? Tell my wife what happened and check on her. Keep an eye on her and my daughter. Okay?”

“I will.”

“Good. Now, get the hell out of here.”

Desmond’s voice was rough, but the trembling of it betrayed his fear. Who wouldn’t be afraid to die? If it happened unexpectedly, that was one thing. It was what they’d signed up for. This way however, it was worse. The knowledge that as soon as you moved that you’d be dead was enough to rattle the bravest of men and Desmond was one.

“Get out of here!”

Ryan made up his mind that he would run back to camp. There had to be someway to help him. Someone would know. He turned, ran. As he trudged through the sand, he threw a glance over his shoulder. Desmond was winking into the distance, his back tall as he looked up into the sky. Ryan could only pray that he’d hold on a while longer. That he wouldn’t take that step.

Pushing, his lungs burning in protest from the smoke and sand, Ryan knew it wouldn’t be long. Camp wasn’t too far. The sun blinded him, made him sweat in sheets of salt. All the while the silent mantra ran through his mind.
Just hold on. Just hold on. Just hold on.
He heard it.

Boom!

Ryan turned, mouth open as a plume of sand shot into the air. The sound was deafening. From where he stood, Desmond’s spot was empty. He wanted to run back to him, but men were pouring out of the camp, surrounding him.

Hands held him in place. Ryan fought through the crowd. He was running back, the heat of the afternoon almost suffocating. He hadn’t heard the noise, didn’t see the men with their guns. Something struck his leg, made him crumble into the dirt. He was still moving, crawling towards Desmond when his vision began to fade.
I’m going to die.

~
 

Ryan tossed his gym bag on the floor. He could hear Stacey in the kitchen, singing her heart out in time with the radio. He grinned. In a life that was overwhelming, Stacey was a constant. He walked into the kitchen.

She stood at the stove, a spatula in her hand as she flipped an egg. He watched her move. Stacey's curves were one of the things that always drew his eyes. Round hips, ample breasts, and thick thighs. She grinned when she noticed him staring.

“Hi, honey. How was the gym?”

“Sweaty,” he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Ew, take a shower then!”

Stacey squealed as he kissed her cheek. She waved him off to the shower making him laugh. His hands ran over her thick black curls before he finally gave in and headed to the bathroom.

“Lunch will be ready in two minutes. Shower fast!” She called as he rounded the corner.

Ryan turned on the water, let it steam up quickly from the Arizona heat. He knew she was serious, lunch would be ready in two minutes and she'd wait patiently for five. As he stepped into the water, he pushed blond hair out of his face. The water should have been relaxing, but it wasn’t.

As he squeezed shampoo into his hair, the memories flooded him. Heat. Desert heat. The threat of a land mine at every step. Ryan's throat tightened. Thinking about Iraq was always enough to send him into a panic. His hand curled around the soap. To keep from thinking about it, he washed quickly before he hopped out of the shower and dried off with a thick, green towel. After slipping into a blue tank top and jeans, he headed back to the kitchen.

Stacey was sitting at the table, his plate in its usual spot. He kissed the top of her head. The smell of rosemary and mint from her shampoo filled his nose. When he set down, he sighed.

“That's for lunch, honey.”

At the age of thirty-two, Ryan was still hard muscle from his days in the army. Tanned skin, blue eyes, blond hair, made him easy on the eyes. Stacey gazed at him as she popped a piece of fried egg between her plump, pink lips.

“Don't start,” he said before she even began.

“You don't even know what I'm about to say.”

“You're going to start in on that future and baby stuff.”

“Am I wrong for wanting more out of life? Am I so awful for wanting to know how you feel about me?”

Ryan sighed. “You know how I feel about you,” he reached a hand across the table. “I love you.”

“Then why aren't we married yet? I've been patient,”she said as she watched him stand with his plate in hand.

“We'll talk about it later.”

Ryan left out of the kitchen before she could protest anymore. He couldn't take the constant talk on the marriage and baby subject. As he settled onto the plush, blue couch in the living room, he sighed. He wanted to have a baby, but not right now. Not when the only thing that he could think of were horrible memories. His hand ran over his leg as if thinking about the memories triggered the pain of his old injury. He loved Stacey, but talking about a future only overwhelmed him at the moment.

Stacey sauntered out of the kitchen, curled up at his side. She laid her head on his shoulder as he ate, quiet. He could tell that she was thinking. When his plate was empty, he ran a hand over her hair.

“We will seriously talk about it later. I promise.”

Stacey sighed as she walked away from him. He watched her retreating form, instantly plagued by guilt. She’d been by his side since he’d been honorably discharged. The woman had stood by his bed through the nightmares, depression and the pain of him having to heal from a gunshot wound. Still, he couldn’t give her what she wanted. Not yet.

Ryan rose from the couch. He wandered into the kitchen, pushing his plate into the sink. In the freezer, there was a bottle of scotch. He wiped the frost from it before carrying it over to the counter. Reaching up, he pulled down a thick glass and filled it almost to the top. Ryan settled at the table with it and the bottle.

Once upon a time, he’d have lit up a smoke to go with his drink. Not anymore. Even the smell of cigarettes made him sick. As he drank, he could hear the sound of Stacey shuffling around in the bedroom. He could imagine her folding the newly washed clothes angrily. She always cleaned when she was pissed off.

Halfway through the bottle, he heard the bedroom door creak open. The sound of her feet moving along the hardwood floor made him raise his head. She gazed around the kitchen, saw him sitting there and scoffed.

“I thought we were done with this,” she said as she moved to pick up  the bottle.

Ryan snatched it out of her hand. “I won’t drink as much.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what you’ve said before,” her eyes watered. “Seriously, Ryan,” her hand ran over his. “I wish you would talk to somebody about what you’re going through.”

He pulled his hand away, tipped the bottle into his glass. Amber liquid filled the cup, the longing that Ryan felt for the impending numbness enough to keep the guilt at bay.  Still, he reached a hand out and gripped hers as she started to walk away.

“I’m sorry. I’ll call Natalie tomorrow.”

Natalie was five feet, two inches of hell in heels. She was also his therapist. The red haired woman had been seeing him for some weeks now, but now Ryan kept putting it off. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened, didn’t want to think about Desmond standing out in that field, his eyes on the sky…

Looking at Stacey, he could see relief on her face. Ryan knew that despite her acting tough, she was concerned about him, always. She sat across from him, letting him taking her hand. It slowed down his drinking a bit at least.

The alcohol burned his throat, clouded his vision. When he could no longer pour another drink without spilling the contents of the bottle all over the table, Stacey took it from him. He could hear himself mumbling that he was fine, but she wasn’t buying it. He leaned against her as she led him down the hall to their bedroom. When he was in bed, she covered him with a light sheet before kissing his head.  She turned to move away, but he grabbed her hand, held it tightly.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled.

She must have seen the distress in his deep, blue eyes. Pulling back the sheet, Stacey climbed in with him. He knew that she’d lay there, curled up beside him, until he fell asleep. Then she would wiggle her way out of the bed. He felt the guilt rise in his chest. He needed her. Ryan pulled her closer, tucked his arm around her waist as he drifted off.

The sound of gunfire made him jump out of his sleep. Sweat covered his body as he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment, he couldn’t understand why the world was tilting and shifting. The thought of the Scotch came back to him. Ryan’s fingers ran over his temples as if he could rub away the headache that lingered there.